Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [209]
After a long time, he allowed himself to move.
The random scanners would cause serious harm to his shield’s ability to continue hiding him and his stockpile. C’tair knew he had to steal one of the devices. If he could analyze how the Tleilaxu technology worked, he might set up a system to counter its effects.
Most mornings, the halls and public rooms of the former Grand Palais (now a Tleilaxu government office building) were empty. C’tair slipped out of a concealed access shaft and into a storage room near the main corridor. From there, it was only a short distance to a lift tube that led straight out of the building, across to other stalactite structures, and even down to the lower levels. He could keep moving, keep up appearances—and keep himself alive. But his chances would be better if he could foil the technology scanners.
The routine investigator might still be in this facility, or the man might have already moved to a different level. C’tair sprinted out on the hunt, listening, watching corridor lights, creeping along. He had already learned all the secrets of this part of the building.
Although C’tair carried a stun-pistol and a lasgun at his side, he feared that Tleilaxu sensor nets would detect their use. Then dedicated teams would be sent out specifically to find him. That was why he held a long, sharp blade in one hand. It would be efficient and silent. The best choice.
Setting up his trap, he finally spotted a balding, pinch-faced Tleilaxu man who approached down the hallway. With two hands he held a little screen that spewed the hues and patterns of fireworks. The investigator was so intent on the readings he did not at first notice C’tair—until the dark-haired man raced forward with the knife blade extended.
C’tair wanted to shout his hatred, scream out a challenge, but he only hissed instead. The Tleilaxu man’s mouth dropped open in an O to reveal little white teeth like pearls. Before the investigator could cry out, C’tair had slashed his throat.
The man tumbled to the floor in a spray of blood, but C’tair caught the scanning device before it could strike the hard surface. He stared hungrily at the scanner, barely noticing his dying enemy’s convulsions as a slowing lake of blood spread across the ornate, polished tiles of what formerly had been the Grand Palais of House Vernius.
C’tair felt no remorse whatsoever. He had already committed plenty of crimes for which he would be executed if the fanatics ever got hold of him. What did one more matter, so long as his conscience was clear? How many people had the Tleilaxu annihilated? How much Ixian history and culture had their takeover destroyed? How much blood did they already owe?
Moving quickly, C’tair dragged the body into the access shaft that led up to his secret quarters inside the solid rock, then cleaned up the leftover blood. Exhausted, sticky with crusting red liquid, C’tair froze for a moment as a flash of his former life pierced his hardened conscience. Looking down at his bloody hands, he wondered what the delicate and lovely Kailea Vernius would think if she saw him now. Every time they had known they would see her, C’tair and his brother had taken extraordinary care to groom themselves properly, wear dashing clothes, add a dab of cologne.
He spared just an instant to mourn what the Tleilaxu had forced him to become . . . and then wondered if Kailea had been changed as well, by whatever ordeals she had endured. He realized he didn’t even know if she was still alive. C’tair swallowed hard.
But he wouldn’t survive long, either, if he didn’t erase the evidence of his crime and disappear back into his hiding chamber.
The Tleilaxu investigator was surprisingly heavy for his size, suggesting a dense bone structure. He dumped the gray-skinned body into a nullentropy bin; the sun would burn out in the Ixian sky before the corpse began to rot.
After wiping himself clean and changing his clothes, C’tair set to work on the primary task at hand. He eagerly took the stolen scanner